DECISIONS
Alone. He had never truly understood the meaning of the word until he found himself returning to a house empty of her. The first week he had spent in the hospital, too full of pain medications to even allow his mind to dwell on the fact that she was gone. At the funeral, he was too overwhelmed dealing with her family and the Joes. Now he was standing in the silence of what had been their home and the grief hit him; he had to get away.
He had stayed long enough to gather a few things he would need before turning and leaving the house that was brimming with memories. He knew that his friends would have tried to stop him had they known his plans, and part of him might even had stopped and considered letting them do it, but he decided not to give them the chance to even voice there concerns let alone their empty promises that the pain would fade. He knew better, he simply would never allow that to happen.
It was six weeks later alone in a run down hotel room, secure in the knowledge that no one knew where he was - not that anyone would recognize him now if he were to run into them on the street. Unshaven, clothing wrinkled from being slept in one to many nights, and the lost, forlorn look in his eyes. He was nothing like the man his teammates had known less than two months ago.
He rolled over in the bed causing the springs to squeak in protest as he reached out and grabbed the whiskey bottle and pistol that had become permanent residents on the nightstand. He knocked back a quick drink before turning his attention at a crumpled photo clutched in his other hand. He smiled slightly to himself as he remembered the instant he had managed to catch her unaware and was able to capture her surprise on film. It had always been his favorite image of her, completely relaxed with all the stress of their profession forgotten in a moment of freedom.
He took another swig before picking up the pistol resting on his lap. He took a moment sliding the magazine free and checking the single shot loaded in it before slamming it back into place. He again glanced down at the photo.
"Why did I agree we'd come back?" He asked the empty room, no one answered him they never did. "I could have told them no." He froze when a soft snort of disbelief responded. "What?" He looked around the shadow-encased room, then back to the photo in his hand.
"You're too much the solider to let your friends fight it alone."
"It's just the whiskey talking," he muttered to himself as he took another drink before setting the bottle back on the stand.
"Yeah, you're drunk."
He couldn't help but wince at the tone of disapproval in the voice. "So what if I am?" He replied. "It's a free country."
"So it is and I seem to remember working my ass off to keep it that way," the voice sighed heavily. "This isn't like you."
"So. Maybe I like it better this way," he nearly shouted. "Maybe this is what I want now."
"Why?"
He paused for a moment before reaching for the bottle again. "Because it was my fault your dead," he whispered with a hushed tone. His hand absently brushed the cold metal of the gun.
"No." The voice stalled his movements.
He clutched the photo tighter. "You came back because I asked you to."
"I made my own decision. I could have said no. I wasn't about to let you go it alone." The voice chuckled lightly. "Who else can keep you out of trouble?"
Despite himself, he smiled slightly, but a familiar pain gripped his throat. "I miss you so much."
"I know," the sadness returned to the voice. "But this isn't the answer either. You're stronger than this"
"I'm not strong enough." He felt a cold shudder run down his spine. "I couldn't save you." He blinked as he felt a gentle caress on his cheek. "Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive Dash. There never was." The voice seemed to embrace his body. "We knew it could happen one day."
He attempted to cling to the phantom caresses as he felt tears falling down his cheeks. "It doesn't make it any easier not being able to ever hold you again."
"I know, nothing will. But this isn't the way to end the pain Dash."
"I don't want to live without you." He cried reaching for the gun sliding the safety off.
"Stop!" the voice commanded. "Not like this Dash! Never like this! Don't make me a reason to die!"
He froze at the anger in the voice. "I don't know what to do." He felt the gentle caress against his cheek again.
"You live Dash," the voice gently whispered. "You live for me."
He blinked back the tears and took a shutting breath. "Live for you?"
"Yes."
He slid the safety back on and removed the clip before placing the pistol on the nightstand. "It won't be easy will it?"
"It never is, you just take it one day at a time and remember that I'm waiting for you." He felt the fleeting touch of lips against his. "I love you Dash."
"I love you Allie." He found himself longing to feel her in his arms again.
" I know," The voice whispered in his ear before chuckling. "And Dash, get cleaned up and shave!"
He opened eyes, surprised to find them closed. Pulling himself out of bed he reached over and grabbed the whiskey bottle before stumbling to the bathroom and pouring the remaining contents in the sink and climbing into the shower. He emerged 20 minutes later clean-shaven and in fresh clothing. He quickly packed up his few belonging before opening the door and allowing the bright summer sun to invade his former hermitage. "Thanks Allie." He whispered as he took the first step back into his life.